Muay Thai at 50

      After just two weeks of classes, I was ready to go twice a week.  Depending on your personal fitness level, this could seem silly.  You might be able to do this three to five times a week, even going twice a day.  Or, it might take you a while to add gym days to your already busy-ass, stressful-ass life.  Don't overthink it.  Don't worry about others getting better at a quicker pace than you.  Just do what feels right.  It's good to push yourself, obviously, but if you're fifty and haven't done anything physical like this in a while (or ever), don't feel bad for listening to your body and going at the speed that works best for you.       My two classes a week routine lasted about three weeks, where I eventually upped it to three a week, which is where I still am now.  Personally, I feel like I am physically ready to add more classes, but I have a few issues that are holding me back.  The...

 About a week after my initial trial, I felt like I was ready to go back in.  My soreness and stiffness had waned enough that I could run again, get back to my regular push-up routine (I had upped my push-up game to 100 per day!), and I could put pants and shoes on without nearly being brought to tears due to pain.  If I hadn't mentioned this earlier, my toes were severely bruised, and my feet were puffy for days from improper, repeated kicks against the heavy bag.  Once I was ready, though, I found out which classes were best for beginners, and I signed up for a full month.      The gym had a few pairs of new boxing gloves and handwraps at decent prices, so I purchased them when I went in.  I had no idea how to wrap my hands, so instead of asking around (I'm pretty damn shy and really awkward), I just put on the gloves without first wrapping my wrists and hoped for the best.  I knew I had no intention of knocking a bag off it's hinges, ...

      Fifty.  It sounds totally wrong.  Fifty years ago, half a goddamned CENTURY ago, was when I was born.  As much as sometimes I don't feel fifty, or I may try to kid myself and say I don't look fifty, I know I really am.  This has never been more apparent to me as it was the next few days after my trial Muay Thai class.   Although I made it home from that free trial class in relatively good spirits, when I woke up the next morning, it seemed like most, if not all movement was incredibly painful.  Every waking moment of the day was excruciating.  My neck hurt from being yanked and tossed around by it.  My biceps were useless jelly and my wrist ached from the first punches I had thrown in well over a decade.  My abs hurt from doing sit-ups with a goddamn medicine ball (yeah I thought those things were only in movies, too!).  My elbows were dark purple from slamming them into pads...and my shins! My poor s...

So I did it.  I decided to take the free trial class.  I ate a god damn banana and rode my bike to a fricken' gym.  I made the first step.      This time the building was full.  There were several people in the boxing ring in the corner, and on the front portion of the mat were about ten to twelve people practicing Jiu Jitsu.  In one corner, half a dozen people were running around a portable obstacle course or some shit, and way in the back were a handful of people lifting weights.  I nervously, quietly, told the person at the front desk that I was there to check out the Muay Thai program. "Oh, cool.  Do you have gloves or handwraps?" "Nope, I sure don't." "Have you done any martial arts before?" "Nope."  The dude literally gave out a sigh, rolled his eyes, and said "Whoa."        I need to pause here, in case anyone reads this.  This wasn't a jab on his part, and this is also not a dis on my part....

 Besides my short tenure of using the stepping machines and swimming pool at the Y.M.C.A. in Chattanooga almost a decade ago, I've never set foot in a gym, before.  I promise you, finding this gym, walking inside it, introducing myself, and trying to start Muay Thai as a fifty year old man was pretty daunting.  When I got to the front door the first time, I took a couple of deep breaths, assured myself that this was what I wanted to do and walked in.  The place was huge.  Three quarters of the place was covered in mats and, on one wall as well as throughout the center, were punching bags of about half a dozen varieties.  In the far corner of the room was a boxing ring.  Nobody was in the building except for two people kicking the shit out of each other in that ring, and there was no way I was going to bother those two.  I just kind of awkwardly stood at the counter for a few minutes, hoping something would happen.   Nothing did.  ...

      As an aging punk in San Francisco, I think I recently had the mid-life crisis that I swore my whole life that I was above.  After almost two solid decades of nightly drinking as much whiskey as was humanly possible, and practically never ever sleeping, I decided to slowly (so slowly) wake up from my self induced funk and have a little more control of my life.      I was fortunate enough to meet, fall in love with and marry, a fantastic sober woman, who, I honestly have no idea why, was able to put up with me, and offer constant encouragement, no matter what wild shit I threw her way.  About four years into our relationship, I decided to quit drinking, cold turkey.  I'll tell you right now, the first six months were pretty brutal, but not because of me missing booze.  That was surprisingly easy this time around.  What sucked was the sugar cravings and the endless nights of no sleep.  Being pretty damned irritable...